


Usurped

by JhandsLuvr69



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Gen, Violence, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 05:39:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2840030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhandsLuvr69/pseuds/JhandsLuvr69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"U EITHER DIE THE HERO OR LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO SEE URSELF BECOME THE VILLAIN" - SOCRATES, 1985</p>
            </blockquote>





	Usurped

“‘...And the beautiful, muscular, warrior-princess swept the humble junk sorceress off her feet and they lived happily ever after. The end.’ So, whaddaya think?”

Jack (well, his officially licensed doppelganger) grinned at the bubbly Moonstralian displayed on his ECHO communicator. “I really liked that one! You’re getting much better at writing in active voice.” Long legs propped up at his desk, the body double cheerfully conversed with Janey Springs, an unlikely friend he had made during his time spent on Elpis. Nowadays he lounged in a luxury apartment on Helios, but the pair remained in touch to discuss their shared interests in fiction as well as cats.

The intercom on the double’s desk beeped. Him and Janey’s happy expressions immediately disappeared, replaced by an uncomfortable hush.

“I guess you better get that,” Janey said. She smiled reassuringly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her screen went dark. Each flash of the intercom made the double’s blood run colder. He had been in such a good mood. For a few brief, blissful moments, he hadn’t felt like a struggling creative writing major who chose to pay off his loans by giving up his entire identity to an emotionally unstable fascist. _Oh, what could have been._

The intercom light continued to flash no matter how many times he wished it would stop. Reluctantly, the double answered. He vividly recalled the last horrifying time Jack sent Wilhelm to physically retrieve him, and did not wish to repeat the experience.

“Heeey, it’s Jack. Just wanted to check in, see how I’m doing.”

Ugh. The double silently thanked the universe that his boss couldn’t see his expression right now.

“Oh, you know. Getting a call from my favorite person. Never been better.” If he clenched his jaw any harder his teeth were going to shatter.

Silence. The double held his breath. Perhaps he had been a little too snarky, even for a doppelganger. His stomach dropped as he imagined what Jack would do to him as punishment. Jack had a rule with his doubles: Nothing that would leave a visible mark. Which left strangling, having a gun pressed to his forehead, being trapped inside an airlock vent, and spanking. The double waited for Jack’s vitriolic response with bated breath.

“Wow.”

_Oh no._ Jack never used one-word sentences unless he was really pissed. _Goodbye, Janey. I hope you find a publisher in the near future._ The double supposed his life had to end sooner or later at the hands of Handsome Jack, he just didn’t expect it to happen today.

“Color me impressed, young grasshopper! You are really starting to master the finer points of my sarcastic speech patterns!” Jack sounded... genuinely ecstatic? It was so creepy. The double sat back in his chair, feeling more than a little stunned. He’d anticipated a much more lethal reaction. Maybe he had wanted one.

“Keep at it kiddo. Soon, people won’t be able to tell you apart from the real thing!” Jack’s voice abruptly switched back to its usual commanding tone. “Anyway. Need you up here pronto. My shipment of clothes just came in. Move it.” _Click._

The moment Jack hung up, the double uttered a long, drawn-out groan. Of all the degrading activities Jack subjected him to, dress-up was his least favorite. Several hours of being treated like a living mannequin with Jack circling around him like a lecherous shark. Sometimes these sessions were followed by more-than-unpleasant sexual acts, peppered with verbal abuse and death threats. It was, simply put, a living hell. But no matter how many nights he cried himself to sleep, no matter how many stiff drinks, no matter how many times he screamed and broke plates and punched the wall, he was still, and always would be, Jack’s _plaything._

He stood up and beat the familiar path to his master’s lair.

 

\------------------

 

The hallway leading to Jack’s office was about as gaudy as the human consciousness was capable of. One hundred and seven steps long. One hundred and twelve, if you really dragged your feet. Recesses in the walls housed enormous gilded statues of Jack’s likeness, all in various states of handsomeness. If you stopped to look, each sculpture had a plaque in front of it detailing all of Jack’s numerous achievements in grandiose prose. The double knew what each plaque said by heart - it was part of his training. He plodded dutifully down the long stretch of Hyperion-yellow carpet, stopping in front of an immense pair of double doors that were easily twice his height. Intricate carvings layered in goldleaf with obsidian accents, the doors truly were a sight to behold. Even if they were carvings of Jack. As expected.

Coughing, the double made eye contact with the camera installed immediately above the ornate monument. A hidden door off to the side slid open, and the real Jack stepped out, arms outspread. “You made it!” he exclaimed. “Six minutes and twenty-two seconds.” He tapped his watch. “I think that’s a new record. Come on in, I have SO many things for you to try on.” Jack turned on his heel and walked back into his office. The double followed suit.

Compared to the exterior, Jack’s office was rather modest. Relatively. Only one golden statue, four oil paintings, and on his desk, a fully articulated Handsome Jack Fightin’ Hero action figure. The toy was currently making a rude hand gesture. The double related strongly. He looked up to see where the real Jack had gotten off to, and found the man staring at him with a hungry expression. _Oh, fuck._ He’d seen that look in Jack’s eyes before, and it never boded well. Ever.

“Kneel.” Jack had a thumb hooked into his belt, face contorted into a snarl. His other hand pointed to the ground. It looked like dress-up wouldn’t be happening today. The double felt sick. He was so tired of this day in, day out abuse. Naught more than an object, a living testament to the relentlessness of Jack’s ego. There was no way he could go on like this. His days of taking orders like a dog were over. It was time to take a stand. Literally.

“Did you hear me?” Jack asked, clearly annoyed. “You know, I thought we were making a lot of progress with the whole disobedience thing. Let’s make this easy. _Kneel._ ”

“No.” The double’s voice shook, but he remained standing.

“No?” Jack’s mismatched eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. “ _No?_   Who the fuck do you think you are?” He was up in the double’s face, now, their identical aquiline noses only centimeters apart.

“I’m Timothy Lawrence.”

Tim squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for the worst. His contract stated that if he was to ever utter his old name, the bomb implanted in his face would explode, and instantly kill him. _Two birds with one stone,_ he thought.

Jack burst out laughing. Hearty, gasping laughter. Tim opened his eyes. _What went wrong? Why are we not both dead?_

“You seriously thought I put a _bomb_ in your face? Can you even _imagine_ how much paperwork I’d have to do if one of my doubles accidentally blew up some old lady? Rule number one: Control starts with the mind.” He tapped the side of his own head for emphasis.

_No. No no no no no. This cannot be happening._ Tim’s throat felt like it was filled with a thousand needles. The past few years of miserable, repressed memories all came rushing back. He saw his professor, handing him a yellow flyer that promised decent pay and an exciting lifestyle. He saw his mother, laughing at the news of her son’s untimely demise. He remembered trying to run out of the operating room, and security dragging him back to the table. He remembered looking into the mirror for the first time, and noticing Dr. Autohn even got rid of his freckles. He remembered sleepless nights shaking in bed, worried he could somehow set off the bomb with mere thoughts. And he saw Jack, fucking Jack, the Jack who had beaten and molested and manipulated him on a weekly basis for years with no more than a smirk on his face.

“You ruined my life.” Tim’s voice broke, and he felt hot tears roll down his cheeks.

“Aww, don’t be like that, pumpkin. Don’t cry. C’mere.” Jack opened his arms for a hug and stepped forward, causing Tim to leap backwards with an affronted expression. The CEO frowned and crossed his arms. “What’s that for? I made your life so much better! I mean, now that you know about the whole ‘bomb doesn’t exist’ thing I have to kill you, but don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy being me while it lasted.”

“You’re a monster.”

Jack snorted. “A monster? I _saved_ you. Even your mom didn’t give a shit about the old you.”

Skull made contact with tile. A sharp crack echoed throughout the office. Jack had been knocked clean off his feet with just one blow. _Jeez._ Tim looked from his fist, to Jack, to his fist, back to Jack, who was holding a broken nose.

“How dare you. How DARE you.” One hand on his nose, Jack unsteadily got back onto his feet. “I’m going to fucking kill you.” He threw a punch, so unpracticed and weak that it only glanced off of Tim’s shoulder. The awkward momentum made Jack stumble and fall to his knees. Timothy almost felt sorry for how pathetic the guy looked right now. Almost, but not enough. The toe of his boot smashed into Jack’s ribcage. _Crack._ Anguished screaming. Kick. _Crack._ Kick, kick, kick. Teeth flew out onto the floor in a splatter of blood and saliva amidst strangled yelps and cries.

Chest heaving, blood pumping, Tim stood over Jack’s crumpled body. He’d never felt so alive, so in control. It was exhilarating. He looked up at the bookcase that hid Jack’s beloved airlock chamber. The hours he’d spent crying inside that thing. A shiver ran down his spine just looking at it. Jack lay in the fetal position, piercing gaze fixated on the man above him. His eyes widened when he realized where Tim was looking. “You wouldn’t. You don’t have the guts,” he spat.

Tim’s glance downwards was almost cursory. “Oh, believe me, _John._ I do.” Strolling over to the console, Tim opened up access to the chamber like he’d watched Jack do so many times in the past.

“Look, if you let me live, I’ll have the doctor undo the surgery! I’ll give you money, a mansion, hell, I’ll give you your own damn planet! Anything.”

The door to the chamber hissed open. Tim snatched Jack’s broken body by the collar of his jacket and dragged him inside. Jack hugged Tim’s leg and wouldn’t let go, babbling about all the luxuries he could provide if his life was spared. He received another kick to the face in response.  _Pathetic._

The door closed. A computerized voice confirmed the chamber was sealed.

“You can’t DO this! I have a CHILD!” It was Jack’s turn to cry. “For Angel’s sake. Don’t do this to my little girl.” His sobs turned into wet, hacking coughs, and he spat out more blood. “Please.”

Tim hesitated. “... I’ll take care of her. I promise.” _Least I can do, right?_ He took one last look at Jack, and the seething hatred in the man’s stare nearly made his heart stop.

“You won’t. You fucking won’t.”

The blast doors slid open and released its prisoner into the unforgiving vacuum. Drifting past the full-length windows of the office, ice crystals and bruises formed on the soon-to-be corpse’s body in a matter of seconds. Spherical droplets of blood trailed behind on their own trajectory. Tim sighed contentedly at the sight. Handsome Jack was dead. And he, Timothy fucking Lawrence, was the man responsible. He was free. Free to run away, and reverse his surgery, and get rid of this itchy voice modulator, and see his mom, and...

Timothy turned away from the windows and observed Jack’s former workstation. The urge to sit in Jack’s chair was overwhelming. He gave in, after a few brief moments of deliberation. Swiveling back around to face the view, Tim watched Jack’s body slowly careen off into the void. He smiled to himself. Maybe he’d stay at Hyperion. Run the place for awhile. Make some positive changes. It was his right, he was practically a hero for finishing off the real Jack. And heroes deserved nice things, like leather desk chairs and diamond-encrusted horses. But first things first. He reached over and activated the intercom resting on his desk.

“Wilhelm?”

“Yes, Jack?”

“I need you to travel to Eden-5. There’s a creative writing professor named Leonard Rex that I’d like you to find and bring to me. Alive, please. He and I need to have a little chat.”

 


End file.
